


Crowley Gave Aziraphale a Cellphone

by bekla_writes



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Awkward Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale and Crowley use cellphones, Aziraphale attempts to use a cellphone, Confused Aziraphale (Good Omens), Cute, Don’t copy to another site, Fluff, M/M, can you imagine how cute this would be oh my god, this is a small thing I was writing and I want to share it now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-06-29 08:12:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19826086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bekla_writes/pseuds/bekla_writes
Summary: In which Crowley gave Aziraphale a few weeks ago and now he's trying to help Aziraphale use it. But Aziraphale doesn't understand why Crowley wants him to have a cell phone so much. The one at his bookshop is perfectly fine!





	Crowley Gave Aziraphale a Cellphone

“ _Angel_ ,” Crowley moans, the elongated ‘l’ turning into a whine. “For the last _bloody time_ , the button goes on the _bottom_.” He takes another swig of wine straight from the bottle. “You’re holding it _upside_ _down_.” He nudges the cell phone out of Aziraphale’s hand and into his own. He’s careful not to knock Aziraphale’s own half-full bottle of wine over. Flipping the phone around, he presses the power button, and waits a moment. 

“ _There,”_ Crowley says as he hands the phone back.

“Ah! Well, thank you,” Aziraphale says, smiling delightedly as the screen begins to glow. “I was having _some_ trouble turning it on.” He takes a sip of his wine. “And this”—he swirls the bottle around, in Crowley’s general direction— “is certainly not helping matters. Whatsoever.” 

Crowley raises an eyebrow at him. Aziraphale had received the phone a week ago and the demon is sure he—Aziraphale—has never once tried turning the damn thing on.

“But,” Aziraphale continues, still beaming, “you’ve been very _patient_ , my dear. And I really do appreciate it.”

“Oh—well, patience is a virtue after all, angel.” Crowley leans back in his chair so that he’s able to see Aziraphale better. Better to take in his curiosity at the device in front of him, and the way it makes him frown. Better to smile as his angel tries helplessly to figure out exactly what it is he’s holding.

“Now this is really rather lovely, isn’t it?” Aziraphale turns the screen for Crowley to see. “I wonder how this image was taken? Do you think it was professionally done?” 

The screen is black. Crowley smiles.

“You see—the screen. It’s timed out,” he says, making no move to help Aziraphale. The angel hasn’t flashed those eyes yet, he hasn’t made that face. The one where his eyebrows raise ever so slightly, where his lips press together in an almost pout. The one that makes Crowley feel many different emotions all at once. The one that has won him over for 6000 years.

“The screen’s timed ou…” Aziraphale trails off, the half-finished word hanging in the air for a moment. “I don’t under _stand_ !” he whines. “I’m an _angel_ and I can’t figure out human technology.”

He takes another sip. “And I don’t understand,” he begins, slowly this time, carefully placing the phone face down on the table, “ _why_ you have given me this, Crowley. Really, I am very happy with my phone _here,_ in the bookshop.”

“Yeah, I know.” Crowley pulls the phone across the wood. “But! This is a _mobile phone_. It goes with you. Your bookshop phone stays put while you go—pfffshhh...” Crowley waves his hand through the air. “Y’know...off.”

Aziraphale just looks at him, silent for a moment. Then he gets up and walks over to his desk. He studies his rotary phone. “This one works perfectly fine.”

“I can’t leave you voicemails on that one,” Crowley says. “This thing.” He waves the cellphone in the air. “This has a voicemail thingy like the one at my flat.”

Aziraphale frowns. “Why would you need to leave me voicemails? If I don’t answer, it’s _usually_ because we’re out. Together.”

“Mmm, yeah, well.” Crowley scrunches up his face. “Ssssometimes I just want to leave you messages.”

“Does that happen often?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm… Why didn’t I know that?”

“Be _cause_ ,” Crowley says, standing, closing the distance between them in a few strides, “you don’t have voicemail.” He picks up the handset, holds it between his shoulder and ear. He dials a number, glancing up at Aziraphale every so often.

Finally, the click and whirring of the rotary dial cease and Crowley holds the phone, staring at Aziraphale with one eyebrow cocked. The cellphone in Crowley’s other hand rings.

“Right,” he says, “pick it up.” He holds it out to Aziraphale. “Say hello. Whatever, really.”

“Oh, my.” Aziraphale takes it gingerly, cradling it in both hands, like a small bird. “H-hello?” he asks the phone.

“No, no. You have to _answer it._ You have to touch the—then hold it—” Crowley gestures vaguely to the phone and Aziraphale’s ear respectively.

The angel looks at the phone ring in his hands. Crowley gets sent to voicemail and places the handset back in its cradle.

“A lot faster, cell phones,” he says. “I’m not calling it again. That dial—”

“That _dial_ is part of a phone that has lasted me quite a long time!” Aziraphale cries, shoving the cell phone at Crowley’s chest. “It’s like my jacket. I’ve kept it in perfect condition for _years_ and feel no need for a new one!” Aziraphale plays with his hands. “I don’t understand why you _insist._ ”

“What if,” Crowley says, dropping the phone on Aziraphale’s desk. “What if...if you’re out. If you’re not in. If I can’t find you—” He stops talking abruptly and, for a moment they look at each other.

_I lost my best friend._

“Well…” Aziraphale says slowly, softly, “you haven’t had _too_ much trouble finding me in the past.” He touches Crowley’s arm for just a moment, before letting his hand drop. “And nothing like that will happen again, I’m sure.”

Crowley shrugs in agreement. “Be helpful though,” he mutters. He doesn’t fully look at Aziraphale and for a second the angel thinks he sees a blush tinge the demon’s cheeks.

“I...I suppose it would but, Crowley, is that really the _reason_ you’re giving this to me? If it is, of course, I will take it. I could always miracle it into working for me—”

“‘S one of ‘em.” Crowley’s voice is nonchalant.

“And the other?”

“D’you know what apps are?”

“That abbreviation stands for quite a lot, these days,” Aziraphale says. “Applications, apply…? Appetizers—oh, what do you think we should do for dinner?”

“That new restaurant down the street, the one with the authentic French food, miraculously opened three months early,” Crowley says flippantly. “In this case, though, angel, I mean applications. Phone applications.”

“Oh. I don’t know much about those at all.”

“Obviously, ‘s why I’m telling you this now.” Crowley sticks one hand in his pants’ pocket. “One that was made—my work, some of it—it’s become really popular—strangely so, considering it was made to send, y’know... _pictures._ Fast pictures. _Very_ fast pictures. One second long if you want. I don’t know what humans even—”

“ _Crowley._ ”

“Right. Humans use it to talk now, and they send each other distorted pictures of their faces—so I suppose it’s still serving _some_ terrible purpose—but I thought—I was _thinking_ —maybe. Possibly. Maybe it’d be something _you’d_ like. We could just...talk about _stuff_ on it and...send pictures.”

“Fast pictures?” Aziraphale asks, smiling a little.

“No! Oh no. No, just—I can show you, if you get it. If you’d like. If not—it’d...it’s no problem. ‘S fine—”

“What’s the cell phone application I should be getting then?”

“ _Snapchat._ ” Crowley wrinkles his nose. “A terrible name, that. But humans always choose bad names for things, don’t they?”

A split second later, the app appears on the phone. The phone is none the wiser. Hadn’t Snapchat always been installed? Now that they both have the app, Crowley consistently tries to get a SnapStreak of six days three times in a row, but Aziraphale caught on after the second occurrence of the demon’s mischief and, now, only messages Crowley back five days in a row. 

Aziraphale, even weeks later, is still terrible at using a front-facing camera—or any direction camera, for that matter—and usually sends Crowley pictures of just his forehead and left eye, or just his chin and neck and part of his vest and bow tie. Crowley screenshots every single picture Aziraphale ever sends him. He especially treasures one where Aziraphale accidentally hit the camera button while smiling at something Crowley was saying at dinner once.

They both use SnapMaps to see where the other is, but neither of them have confessed to doing so, no matter how many times Adam, Pepper or the others catch them and announce it loudly to the room.

Losing each other is not an option. Not when the world was ending. And certainly not now. Not now, when they have the rest of their lives to live, together.


End file.
